


Spending Christmas

by DixieDale



Category: The Persuaders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 07:40:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16868869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: They could go anywhere they wanted.  Just where would they end up 'Spending Christmas'.A pastoral, no flying bullets.





	Spending Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Not even a Crossover, just a teeny reference to Clan O'Donnell, members of which Brett and Danny met during 'The Wrong End of the Stick'.

Where to spend Christmas? They'd been discussing it for the past month or more. The invitations were plentiful, of course. They always were, Brett and Danny having a wide assortment of friends and acquaintances. Of course, their friends didn't really overlap that much, though the acquaintances did, more than you'd think considering their backgrounds. Still, in at least the more superficial sense, money, especially a great deal of money, was a great equalizer. The question was, what they couldn't agree on, which was the most tempting destination, where would they have the best time, and it wasn't an easy decision to make.

Danny Wilde was draped across the lush couch as if posing for a photographic spread in one of the more daring fashion magazines. He knew quite well what sort of a picture he presented; well, he'd made sure the elegant and perfectly fitted evening clothes he wore coordinated perfectly with the dark blue upholstery. Well, dark wine and gold DID coordinate with dark blue, didn't they??

Brett Sinclair paused in the middle of making a drink, to look at the impudent American who'd managed to turn his well-ordered life upside down. Well, Danny and Judge Fulton anyway. 

Judge Fulton had brought a sense of purpose, along with flying bullets, and the chance of dying in the near future, though presumably for a good cause. 

Danny? Danny had brought a type of friendship he'd never imagined he would have with anyone, especially someone who should inspire only annoyance and contempt in someone born to the purple, like Lord Brett Sinclair. Daniel Wilde? The man had money, of course, but came from a decidedly different background, very rough and tumble, and simply had no sense of boundaries, and about the same amount of discretion. Lord Sinclair kept telling himself he found it irritating; he refused to admit he found it not only appealing, but quite charming.

"Daniel, are you sure your tailor didn't accidentally use the wrong bolts of fabric? Perhaps he meant those particular fabrics for draperies? Perhaps in a bordello?" taking a sip from his glass to make sure he had the proportions just right. Well, of course he did; he could mix a drink quite well, no matter what Danny Wilde might claim. 

He walked over to hand Danny the second glass, had it taken from his hand and watched it being placed on the end table. Sinclair sighed as he watched Danny pat the cushions next to him in open invitation.

"Come, Your Lordship, sit your boringly-tailored self down and we can discuss fashion. Or liquor. Or gambling. Or . . ." his hand gliding over Sinclair's thigh once Sinclair was seated beside him.

Lord Sinclair gave him a firm glare, but not moving away from the touch. Heaven knows, Danny would have just moved after him. It was the sheer futility of escape that kept him where he was, surely, not the sensation of that warm hand so lightly touching his thigh. He could NOT be enjoying that, certainly, not from someone so gauche as Danny Wilde.

"What we NEED to discuss, Daniel, is something we've been putting off. The holiday. Where do we spend Christmas? We have a great many invitations, any number of places we would be quite welcome if we showed up WITHOUT an invitation. We keep saying we'll decide later, and we are running out of time."

The one thing he didn't mention, didn't even want to think about, was perhaps the American wanting to spend the holidays somewhere alone. Or at least, somewhere without Brett Sinclair. Sinclair found that a disturbingly depressing thought.

Danny batted his eyelashes, as he reached out to pick up his glass and sip that drink. He wrinkled his nose, "are you sure you read the recipe right, Your Worship?"

"Daniel, the drink is perfection itself. Now stop avoiding the question and answer me. Monte Carlo? St. Tropez? Capri? Or would you prefer to stay in London? Though I've heard Mustique has a certain appeal, and Costa Smeralda seems inviting, if perhaps a trifle over-populated by the parvenus."

"Your Highness, may I remind you, I AM the parvenus, in the flesh," he grinned with abandon, making his eyebrows wiggle up and down.

"Yes, but you seem to handle it better than most."

"Why, is that a compliment I'm hearing?" dramatically laying one palm over his heart at the very idea.

"Yes, well, it's one of the few I intend to give you, so you might note it down in your diary," Sinclair grumped half-heartedly. There were many compliments he COULD give the American, his new room-mate. {"Room-mate! How totally implausible! Well, perhaps we can find other accommodations for him in short order. He can't stay in my spare bedroom indefinitely! We do seem to be running out of hotels in London, though, at least those worth staying in. And he doesn't seem eager to settle into a private setting.} Brett wasn't ready to admit it, but he rather liked having the cheeky American around. He might be exasperating, but he was never boring.

The two had somehow, between the two of them, caused major damage, along with major confusion, to some of the finest hotels in London. Well, not exclusively London, of course. There was Paris. And Madrid. Not to mention, Geneva. No, best not to mention Geneva! Well, between them, there were a number of exclusive hotels which now had Daniel Wilde on the persona non grata list, at least for anything other than brief visits to the dining room or the bar.

"Tell you what, Your Lordship. You let ME plan the holiday; that way we don't have to discuss anything. You just sit back and relax and anticipate the best time of your life. What say?" 

Brett Sinclair said plenty, some at the top of his voice, some in a more measured voice urging reason, some actually approaching pleading, though for one of his stature it was only APPROACHING pleading, of course. He would never admit the relief he'd felt when Danny had made it clear that spending the holiday together was clearly in the picture.

Finally, though, as he found himself doing more and more, he relented. "Very well, Daniel. I will leave it in your hands. But I warn you, if I don't enjoy myself tremendously, I will make sure you don't enjoy YOURSELF in the least." That only got a knowing laugh and another flutter of those eyelashes.

"Oh, you better believe you're gonna enjoy yourself, kid. Just leave it to me," all presented with a very smug look, thinking of that little conversation he'd had last week with a member of a rather unusual family they'd become acquainted with within the past year.

Brett Sinclair thought, once again, of reminding Danny that he did NOT like to be called 'kid'; then, Danny moved a little closer and removed Bret's glass from his hand and set it aside, and Bret decided it just wasn't worth the effort, not right then anyway.

 

A month later:  
His voice was crisp with growing annoyance, "Daniel, are we going to spend all of Christmas Eve traveling?"

"What's your hurry, Your Lordship? We had a great breakfast, a nice drive through the countryside, a good lunch at that little pub. Just breathe that fresh air! Look at the trees, the sky, that nice big bunch of water that I'd call a lake and you insist on calling a 'lochhhhhh', like you're coughing up a hair ball. Aren't you having fun?" Danny's enthusiasm was irrepressible, as usual.

"Yes, I'll admit, it has been pleasant, getting out of London for a bit, but I would like to have some reassurance that we are going to actually GET somewhere today! Or are you planning for us to sleep in the car? And I presume you ARE intending to provide dinner at some point?"

"Now, now, Your Worship, dont worry. Just relax. We're gonna get someplace, right enough, and you're gonna love it! Just lean back, take a little nap. Leave it all to me!"

Bret Sinclair decided he might as well comply; the clean air was making him drowsy, and it wasn't as if Danny was going to give in and tell him anything.

"Wakey, wakey, Your Lordship! We're here!"

Lord Sinclair sat up, blinked the sleep from his eye, looked around. It was just past dusk, but he could still see the outline of a house of some quiet elegance. "Just where ARE we, Daniel," he asked with some asperity.

"We're THERE, kid. Come on, get out," Danny crowed, leaping out as if he hadn't spent most of the day driving.

A man in livery stood at the door, came forward and with a calm "Welcome, My Lord, Mr. Wilde. We've been expecting you." Sinclair noted the accent was perhaps Portuguese, though by way of a few other places. "I am Renaldo; I will bring your luggage. Dolores will see you to your rooms," nodding his head toward the door where a tall woman of perhaps sixty was waiting.

"Just where are we?" Sinclair demanded, but his only response was a polite smile, "Odellinn, My Lord, and we sincerely hope you will enjoy your stay."

Sinclair started to make further inquiries but the man was already busying himself with their luggage, and Danny was linking his arm with his, pulling him along. "You're gonna love this! Heard about it from a friend, and figured it'd be just the place!"

Sinclair contended himself with a sullen mutter, "I'd better, my dear Daniel!"

He had to admit the dinner had been a fine one, well suited to a cold night. Oh, it hadn't been wildly extravagant, but the food was of good quality, well prepared and highly acceptable, if you were agreeable to a traditional English table, and for all his travels and high-society parties, he found it rather refreshing. The wine had been quite pleasant, and the brandy actually excellent. 

He took a moment to look around carefully, at the quietly elegant furnishings, the pleasant hints of the holidays in the evergreens on the mantle and elsewhere.

"Very well, Daniel, I must admit this is quite acceptable. Just where are we, might I ask? And where are the other guests?" 

"You heard Renaldo, Your Lordship. 'Odellinn' That sort of says it all, ya know?"

Clearly that was supposed to mean something to Sinclair, but it didn't. He wondered if not getting an answer to the second part of his question was significant. Stifling a yawn, he was surprised to hear Danny suggest, "why don't we turn in for the night? It's been a long day. And I've heard Santa can't deliver your gifts if you aren't tucked away well before midnight."

Sinclair raised his eyebrows, "somehow I hadn't thought you and Santa were personally acquainted," only to get a cheeky grin and a quick "hey, I know lots a people you wouldn't think I'd know, kid! Come on, pour yourself another glass of brandy and let's head upstairs. Maybe I'll give you one of your gifts a little early if you're a good little English Lord," with just far too much of a sly grin for Bret Sinclair's comfort.

Sinclair refused to acknowledge that comment, or the suppressed looks of amusement on the faces of Dolores and Renaldo Rivera, the caretakers of where ever he'd ended up. 

 

Christmas morning came with the swish of the curtains being drawn back with a snap. Sinclair rolled over and blinked at the sudden influx of light.

"Good morning, My Lord. Would you prefer a preliminary cup of coffee here or downstairs?" a politely smiling Renaldo asked. Brent Sinclair started to answer then froze at the voice from the other side of the bed, "I'm having mine up here, Your Lordship. Make it two, Renaldo; there's no hurry in getting downstairs. I'm sure Dolores and Renaldo are flexible about breakfast, aren't you, Renaldo."

That got a solemn nod, "of course, Mr. Wilde. We are to make ourselves adaptable to YOUR schedule, as arranged."

"See, Your Dukeship, it's all arranged, just like I told you." 

Renaldo gave a slight bow and left, supposedly to bring coffee for two.

Brett Sinclair was quite sure his face was deeply flushed. "Daniel!" He had totally forgotten he was not alone, though just how he COULD have forgotten he couldn't imagine.

"Now, now, now, it was 'Danny' last night. I kinda liked that, you know. Oh, I like it just fine when you call me 'Daniel' the rest of the time, but other times, well, 'Danny' makes it kinda special." 

Sinclair would have continued the argument, such as it was, except a tap on the door let them know Renaldo had returned with the coffee. From the short span of time involved, it had probably been waiting on a table at the end of the hall. Coffee was poured from the silver pot into china cups, handed over to the two men, and the pot placed back on the tray on the stand Renaldo had placed beside the bed.

"Please just ring the bell when you are about thirty minutes away from coming downstairs. We will have your breakfast ready," and with another bow he was gone. 

"We could have just gone down and had coffee. By the time we were finished, they would have had breakfast ready," Sinclair fumed.

"Now, now, don't be in such a rush to start the day. I'm sure breakfast will be just fine, and those presents under the tree will still be there when we go downstairs. They might not be of the same calibre as the present you got last night, but you couldn't really expect that, could you? Of course, nothing to say that last present might not have a repeat cycle. In fact, I'd lay odds it probably does." 

Sinclair just looked at those wickedly grinning blue eyes and was at a loss for words. Silently he sipped his coffee, trying to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind. 

 

It was well mid-morning before Dolores heard the awaited tinkling of that bell. "About time. I was thinking we'd need to make it lunch instead of breakfast," she said with a laugh. Renaldo nodded, "best make sure you're putting out plenty; I have a feeling they've worked up quite an appetite."

 

And there were gifts under an old-fashioned Christmas tree, and egg nog and cookies and thin slices of fruitcake and some quite drinkable brandy. Just how Danny had managed to arranged for the gifts Brett had hidden away at home to magically appear under that sweet-smelling tree, Sinclair hadn't a clue; he knew there hadn't been room in the boot of the car, not with their luggage. 

At various times during the leisurely day, Sinclair would try to get Renaldo or Dolores to give him a hint of where they were. With a full day of driving, it could be Scotland or Wales, or maybe just the far ends of England. They would only tell him 'you are in Odellinn, My Lord'. When he pressed, "yes, but what country?" he got a similar low laugh from each of them. "Odellinn isn't exactly in ANY country, My Lord; it is a rather unusual place, you see. More of a principality, you might say." He realized he wasn't going to get any sensible answer, and turned his mind to other things.

The afternoon lazed away, and an old-fashioned Christmas dinner greeted them when they headed to the dining room in answer to the bell. It turned into another early evening, one just as pleasant as the one before. 

It was with more than a little regret they walked out to the car the next morning, having said their goodbye to Dolores at the door, and to Renaldo after he'd loaded their bags into the car. As they drove away, Danny again at the wheel, Brett Sinclair asked, "how long will it take us to get back to London?" He wasn't particularly looking forward to another all day drive, though he had to admit the experience had been well worth the effort.

A wicked grin came over Danny Wilde's face, "oh, about a minute and a half, Your Lordship," and Sinclair's jaw dropped, as indeed they exited the gated drive to find themselves in one of the finer parts of London. A fast glance back let him see the plaque on the brick wall behind him, 'Odellinn - Private Property of C. O'Donnell'

"DANIEL!!!"

"Relax, kid. Admit it, you had the best time of your life, right??!" Danny smirked over at the indignant aristocrat.

Brett didn't answer for a long time; in fact, they were almost back to his flat when he said, in a voice he almost didn't recognize himself, "yes, Danny, I had the best time of my life." 

{"We can discuss new living arrangements, Danny getting a place of his own, later. Much much later."}. Brett Sinclair reminded himself to put such a discussion on his calendar, sometime before it expired. He was just starting a five-year calendar; that should give them enough time to decide if such a move was really desirable.


End file.
